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Mechanic And Mistletoe Masterlist

Summary: Y/N, an ER nurse is driving home to her Mom on Christmas Eve. Her car breaks down on the side of the road. She calls Winchester Singer Autos and Bobby sends Dean to help her. Will she make it to her Mom in time for Christmas? And will she get back home in time for her shift on Boxing Day?

Universe: Mechanic AU

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

Warnings: Slow build, Mechanic AU, Fluff, Smut, Angst. Each chapter will have individual warnings. 

Total words: 49,455 A/N: Series beta’d by @winchest09​. Aesthetic also done by her. She is my cheerleader, bestie and constant support. 

This series is complete

Mechanic and Mistletoe Movie Trailer

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Part Eleven

Part Twelve

Part Thirteen

Part Fourteen

Part Fifteen

Part Sixteen

Part Seventeen

Epilogue

This series is complete

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Summary:  Teasing is what Sam Winchester loves best. You live for teasing him, and he lives for having a reason to not go easy on you. 

Rating: 18+ (Pre-Smut)

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Tags: dom!Sam, teasing!Reader, bratty!Reader, sexy dancing, seduction, flirting, mild choking, sexual tension, dry humping, slight Daddy kink

WC: ± 1.3K

@spnkinkbingo​ Square Filled: Teasing 

A/Ns: I didn’t have any plans for this square until I saw the above photo and knew I had to write this immediately. Hope you enjoy!

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favourite relationships ► brothers | Sam & Dean Winchester

“All that matters now, all that’s ever mattered, is that we’re together.”

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“I need you to trust me.”

“I’m not doing that.”

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Jensen Ackles | New York City, May 17, 2012

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Now accepting curious anonymous messages 🌚

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Quarantine Eve

Word Count: 2144

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Square Filled: Free Space

Summary: Dean and the reader spend their first normal (if you call a pandemic normal) New Year’s Eve together as husband and wife after defeating Chuck.

A/N: Written for @spndeanbingo​​ and beta’d by @percywinchester27​​ bless her so fucking much I dunno what I’d do without Ana. This is the NYE/ LIFE Dean fucking deserves.

Feedback is always appreciated! It gives me life!

You pulled into the garage and threw Baby in park, slamming your head back against the seat and taking a deep breath after yet another long day. Your 8 hour shift at the pharmacy had yet again turned into 12, on New Year’s Eve of course. Seeing Dean’s work truck in its normal spot was a welcome sight. At least, he wasn’t working more overtime to make up for lost time during quarantine earlier in the year.

You made your way out of the car, trudging over to the washing machine to start your nightly ritual. Kicking off your shoes, you left them next to Dean’s work boots and started peeling off your scrubs, your muscles screaming in protest with every move. Once all your dirty clothes were in the wash along with Dean’s he’d tossed in earlier, you threw on the robe you kept in the garage and turned on the machine, making your way inside.

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Character A: In my trunk, I have a bottle of bourbon, some illegal fireworks, and a shovel. Are you in?

Character B: This sounds like a horrible idea, but yes.

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It Was You (Part One)

A/N: Jensen and Y/n are childhood best friends. When his agent informs him that his image could use some improvement for a role, will she help him? Or will her feelings get in the way?

A holiday (Christmas centric) Jensen x Female!Reader Best Friends to Lovers series for @spnchristmasbingo. Un-beta’d, so all mistakes are mine. Header created by me with images from Google. Chapter word count: 3371

Series Warnings: break up; angst-ish at times (if you squint), but mostly all the fluff.

I consider this an AU, as Jensen is single in this fic. This is completely a work of fiction, and I wouldn’t want his reality to be any different, this is purely for entertainment.

The slight chill of a Vancouver December morning roused you from a peaceful sleep, making you snuggle further into the down blanket and comfort of your plush bedding. It was two weeks until Christmas and the weather was supposed to be a balmy high of 32 degrees today, so you had planned to stay in, do some shopping online, and stay by your cozy fireplace with every holiday movie you could find. Willing yourself to get five more minutes of shut eye seemed like a helpless feat as the wintry cold seeped into your apartment. You opened your eyes to the gentle prisms of light floating in through the adjacent window, the sunrise indicating it was time to get up for the day.

Sitting up to perch on the side of your bed and grabbing your wide-rimmed glasses from the nightstand, you slid your chilled toes into the warm slippers waiting and shrugged on your fuzziest sweater. It may be time for that fire sooner than you thought.

Padding into your kitchen to get a much-needed caffeine fix after last night’s dinner and drinks with the rest of the cast and crew, you took your favorite mug from the cabinet and loaded the coffee maker, making an extra cup or two for you and any visitors you might have a bit later.

Jensen’s apartment was down the hall, and if you knew him, he’d still be sleeping, but he’d probably wander over at some point this morning. Cradling the mug in your hands warmed them slightly and sent a shiver down your spine. Even your warmest pajamas and the heat from the thermostat did little against the Canadian winds. Laughing slightly to yourself, you’d thought you’d be used to it after six years of winters here.

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Based off the Youtube video of the husband hitting on his wife after surgery.

Warnings: like 1 curse word

You were awoken by the loud sound of your phone alarm. It was already noon, which meant Dean should be out of surgery any minute now. It had been a long morning. You and Dean got to the hospital at 4AM for his pre-surgery preparation and his surgery wasn’t until 6AM. So instead of sitting around and worrying, you thought it’d be best to lay down to get some rest while Dean was in his four hour leg surgery.

About ten minutes later, two nurses roll Dean’s hospital bed into his recovery room. He is half awake, trying to figure out where he is. “Here. Try to get him to eat some of these.” the nurse tells you as she hands you a sleeve of saltine crackers, “It will help calm the nausea he may have from the pain medication. Other than that, everything went fantastic and I’ll be right back with his meds.”

“Thank you!” you told the nurse. You turned to Dean and handed him a cracker.

“I need some medicine” Dean blurted, his voice sounding very hoarse.

“They’re bringing you some right now” you assured him. “Go ahead and finish eating your cracker.”

“Did the doctor send you? Man, you are eye candy!” he exclaimed, clearly still coming out of his anesthesia and waving his hand with the cracker in it all around. “Woah. You might be the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. Are you a model?”

You couldn’t help but giggle. How could this man still be so handsome while so drugged up? “No, but I’ll be right here with you, Dean. Keep eating your cracker.”

“Who are you? What’s your name?”

“My name is Y/N. I’m your wife.”

“You’re MY wife?!” Dean questioned, astonished. All you did was shake your head. “Holy shit! Dang! How long?” you couldn’t contain your laugh.

“Just eat the cracker, you are waking up!” you told him.

“Do we have children?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh man. Man, have we kissed yet?”

“Keep eating your cracker.”

“Oh, it’s hard. It’s hard, baby, it’s hard. Do we call each other ‘baby’? How long have we been married?” questions spewed out of Dean’s mouth.

“A long, long time.” you answered him.

“Oh my god, I hit the JACKPOT!”

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“supernatural didn’t have any actual monsters it’s just some guys fighting guys” I know this is a joke but I literally do not know how to explain to you that the fancy effects you’ve grown accustomed to on prestigious television like arrow and riverdale did not exist for the majority of supernatural’s lifetime and also they’ve spent their entire budget on flannel shirts

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Take Care of You

Characters: Dean x sick!reader

Summary: When Dean returns from an outing with Sam, he realizes that you’re sick, so he takes it upon himself to take care of you.

A/n: warnings: sick reader, mentions of illness (nothing explicit, just not feeling well), fluffy Dean. This is a small gift for my boo @winchester-writes. She’s been feeling sick, so I hope this makes the cold go away a little quicker. Love you, sweetie.

Dean returned to the bunker when the sun had begun to set in the sky, the reds and yellows shimmering against Baby’s hood. He and Sam parted ways to their respective rooms, Dean dumping his duffel onto the floor and shuffling into the library, where he expected to find you curled over a book doing their research for them.

Instead, he found an empty chair and a box of tissues.

“Y/n?” He called, a slight echo reverberating off of the walls.

After checking the kitchen and your room, he meandered through the maze of doors until he landed near the one he was sure you’d be behind.

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Send me a letter to my inbox

A- are you single? B- birthday? C- crush? D- did u get ur first kiss? E- easiest person to talk to? F- favorite song? G- good at? H- hair color? I- in love? J- jealous of? K- known as? L- longest relationship? M- middle name? N- number? O- one wish? P- person last texted? Q- question always asked? R- reason to smile? S- song last listened to T- time you woke up? U- 3 biggest wishes? V- violent moment? W- worst fear? X- ex you still liked after it was ended? Y- your last hug? Z- zodiac sign?

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Men doing the bare minimum for women but will fight hard for their problematic male friends part 92737

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Clean-Ups & Cupcakes

Summary: A little snack before a hunt never hurt anybody, right?  Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 590 Square Filled: Makeovers for BTZ Bingo.  Square Filled: Bolded prompt for @spnquotebingo​. Warnings: A little crack. (As in like, the genre, not the drug.)  A/N: I was feeling a light-hearted, silly ficlet and … here we are! Happy Reading, lovelies! 

Friendly reminder, today is the day the taglist update takes effect, so if you need to be moved, added, or removed, send me an ask :)

GIF found via Google Image Search

You couldn’t remember the last time you had this much hairspray or that many pins holding your hair in place. The dress you were wearing was far fancier than anything you had worn in your life, and you already couldn’t wait to wash the makeup off of your face. 

“Are we sure this is going to get us into that secret weirdo society?” you asked, stepping out of the motel bathroom, your heels clicking against the tile floor. 

Dean stepped into the room in a tux, straightening his bowtie and obviously very taken with himself all dressed to the nines. When he spotted you though, his brow went up and his jaw dropped. 

“Y/N, you … you clean up well.”

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"Always" is a big promise, but I know how to keep it

1.

I think I fell in love with you, once, years ago, in city slums dark and sepia-toned, now pale, foggy past. I loved you with bloody knuckles and less bucks to my name than you had healthy days to yours. I didn't know that love was what this was, at the time. This twist in my gut, the blossom of faith in my chest at your fool's gold smile was just that. Nothing definable, merely a feeling of knowing. Your death wishes, requested through enlistment forms, trying to upend it all -- not that there was much to begin with, besides starlit teeth and fluttering hope -- chipped at my soul. I imagined slivers of translucent silk floating through my body, placeless, that glued themselves back together when none of your attempts worked. Departure made me a moon during a lunar eclipse, the great big shape of the world coming between us leaving me lightless without my Sun.

2.

I didn't want to tell you I fell in love with you, decades ago, in a merciless forest. With trench mud impossibly working its way under nails bitten blunt, and smoke in the air so constant our lungs got used to the heavy weight, and stopped treating each inhale like a shuddering burden, but carried the breaths I held for you like Atlas does the sky. Eternally. I loved you in stale, green tents and the clink of dog tags possessive, terrified when you got close enough in laughter for me to taste the useless coffee on your exhalations. Blood turns to ice when it doesn't have anything to warm it, and every night we spent curled in parentheses, the chilled space between us hardened my sinews until they were only stone. Burying a treasure, the only one I had left, my ruby heart waiting for you to find it, because it had always belonged to you.

3.

I know when I fell, in love, it was definitely for you, lifetimes ago, caught only by the wrong hands and mountain snow. For you, and the everlasting instinct to protect you to the ends of the Earth, and I did, by God I did. With the exception of your own stupid courage, I saved you from everything the universe seemed Hell-bent on throwing your way. Even from myself and the monster I felt growing within, both the heat in my eyes and the poison in my veins. I tried not to feel grateful for release from the torture that had been ravaging my body, when the ravine took me, when your face was a disappearing supernova above me, pulsing red, white and blue. At least I knew love, the passion-stoked flame of it in me. If only it was enough to keep me warm for the the era of cold war that was about to dawn.

4.

I have fallen in love with you, for centuries, with every version of me. Perhaps it is because each form I have taken has been a soldier, and you are the order. Giving structure, giving meaning. Brooklyn, Breitenau, Berlin, Barcelona, Bangkok, Burma. Our lives have been mapped in battlefields so numerous it is impossible to tell where the cartographer war lord placed the nib of his pen first. So many wars I forget what we're fighting for, at this point. (To go home, you whisper, in an airport about to become collateral carnage). I think about that word for a long time. When everything catches fire, and I am about to follow you into another fight, and you give up a hero's worth of nobility for my miserable sake, I think about home, and how it has only ever been you, but right now I am more lost than ever. No atlas, no map, no bread crumbs to lead me back to your heart.

5.

I want to keep falling in love with you, for eons to come, but I'm not sure how to any longer. I worry that the skeletons in my closet took that ability from me, or shattered it so its pieces are drifting, ghostly, inside, like the remains of my mind and memory. All of me is more broken glass than whole crystal, and you and your reckless bravery -- you never did know what's good for you, you punk -- keep getting cut on my sharp edges. The only thing motivating me to stop bleeding all over this rekindled love story of ours is that immortal desire to see you safe, secure from all hurt, especially the kind I have and do and will induce. So I bandage my wounds, and I remember that love is blind. (I can forget a lot of things, but not my love for you, even if I am struggling to find my way back to it). I can't read the cartographer's cruel drawings any more, but I can follow the hummingbird vibrations of my ribs to echo-locate my way to you. And the miracle is, your arms are there, to welcome me back into your embrace.